Dr. Metablog is the nom de blague of Vivian de St. Vrain, the pen name of a resident of the mountain west who writes about language, books, politics, or whatever else comes to mind. Under the name Otto Onions (Oh NIGH uns), Vivian de St. Vrain is the author of "The Big Book of False Etymologies" (Oxford, 1978) and, writing as Amber Feldhammer, is editor of the classic anthology of confessional poetry, "My Underwear" (Virago, 1997).

June 01, 2007

A Mental Prosthesis

Regular readers of this blague will remember that Dr. M. has long ago confessed that he suffers from a serious case of "directional disability," or as some call it, "geographical dyslexia" -- which means that he regularly loses his way, is subject to travel-based panic attacks, and is consequently abused by friends and family who refuse to recognize that he's not stupid, just utterly lost.

Advanced technology rides to my rescue. I now own a mobile navigator. It affixes to the windshield of the car, and, using signals bounced off three or four satellites, instructs me how to get from point A to point B. I've fallen profoundly in love with the disembodied female British voice who doesn't criticize me when I make a wrong turn: she just says, very politely, "recalculating." Then she says, "drive point five miles and turn left." What a boon to the chronically lost! I now drive as accurately as a migrating bird. My only reservation: I think that my friend should congratulate me when I get to where I'm going. She should show a little enthusiasm. But all she says is "arriving at destination, on left." What would it hurt her to offer congratulations? I'm not asking for a commitment or for flowers.

The navigator has now moved to first place among my prostheses, supplanting the incisor.

Comments

I live in an area of narrow winding lanes and low bridges where it's not uncommon to find large lorries completely stuck, lured to their fate by that British voice you describe. 'point five miles....' except she's wasn't programmed to know there's a bridge in the way, and no possibility for the lorry to turn round for five point something miles back.

I call mine Chris after the former St. Christopher. One day, I was driving to a shopping center I wasn't familiar with and had my 84 year old grand-aunt in the car. She had a good laugh over the fact that I'd named my GPS navigator. He chimed in with directions as we were speaking and she said, "not now Chris, I'm talking, it's rude to interrupt". We had a good laugh over that.

I haven't named my gps, that I can remember, but talk to it. Whenever I finally get to my destination, it says "You have arrived". I respond, "My mother thinks very highly of me, but I wouldn't go that far." I used to include my best friend, Larry, but he died 14 months ago.